


Expectation

by Havokftw



Series: I used to be indecisive, now I'm not sure. [8]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alpha Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Angst, Child Neglect, Childhood Memories, Domestic Fluff, Family, Family Feels, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Meeting the Parents, Omega Lee Jihoon | Woozi, Past Abuse, Running Away
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-07 09:02:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12229755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Havokftw/pseuds/Havokftw
Summary: It’s not that Jihoon wishes Seungcheol’s background were as fucked up as his own. He’s pleased and shouldn’t be at all surprised to know that Seungcheol—his big, goofy, cinnamon roll Alpha—comes from this, two people that love him openly and without reservation or conditions.He just wonders, why does Seungcheol even want to be with him?(Part 8 in the Jicheol A/B/O series) Seungcheol takes his new mate home to meet his family)





	Expectation

“I hate packing! Why have you got so much shit Seungcheol!” Jihoon growls as Seungcheol comes into the room with the parcel tape.

“What are you talking about? Must of this stuff is yours.” He points out.

Jihoon fixes him with a long, hard glare; something Seungcheol almost feels honour-bound to be a little bit afraid of, but he can't muster enough sincerity to try.

“Oh really? This box deep collection of baseball caps and— _bucket hats_ has your name written all over it.” Jihoon says, shoving the box aside with a vicious snarl of disgust, “Why do you need so many bucket hats anyway—and why in every colour imaginable? You have one head Seungcheol—and it’s like a United colours of Benetton store in that box.”

Seungcheol makes a pathetic attempt to hide his amusement, pressing his lips tightly together even as crow's feet of repressed delight form at the corners of his eyes, “I think they look good on me.”

Jihoon levels him a look that says he strongly objects to that assessment. “We need to downsize Seungcheol—not everything we own moves to the new apartment.”

Seungcheol’s mirth melts away. He holds open his arms, and when Jihoon doesn’t immediately move towards him, hooks him by the loops on his jeans, making sympathetic shushing noises against Jihoon’s grunts and grumbles of protest until he has reeled Jihoon into a full-on hug.

“Please don’t recycle my hats.” Seungcheol mumbles into his mates hair. 

Jihoon huffs. “I should! Children in third world countries could use your bucket hats as shelter. I’d be doing the world a service.” He grumbles, pressing his face into Seungcheol’s neck. “But, I wouldn’t do that—I know how much you love your stupid looking hats.” He murmurs, settling down again.

Seungcheol hums, rocking back and forth slightly on his feet; he knows Jihoon makes a point of not being soothed so indulgently, but he also knows Jihoon sort of likes it.

“We don’t have to do all this now, you know.” He tells him.

“Seungcheol, we move in a week—to a smaller apartment. We have all this to pack, then unpack, then organise before you start your job.” Jihoon says, voice sharp with exasperation as he pulls back to look at him.

“We don’t _need_ to do anything. I’ll get professional packers in or something. They’ll pack everything up and box it. The moving company will haul it over to the new place and we can go away for a few days.”

Jihoon graces him with one of those tiny, lip-quirking smiles that normally only last a split second on his face; except this one lingers, like it might become a permanent fixture. Seungcheol thinks he'd like that, actually.

Jihoon needs to smile more, relax more, stop worrying so much about Seungcheol’s new job and his own upcoming college project. Sure, the adult life is all set to bite them in the ass one day pretty damn soon, but what's the point of having long ass summer holidays if you can't enjoy them?

“We could leave town for a bit. Have a break. We need it. _You’re_ tired— _I’m_ tired.”

“And where would we go?” Jihoon mutters, but he stops fighting and lets Seungcheol gather him up again.

“Well, I was thinking—my parents would really like to meet you.” Seungcheol offers, after a slight pause. He's not entirely certain it's the right thing to say—whether it's trekking too far past Jihoon's silently established boundaries, the ones that make Seungcheol  _crazy_  sometimes—but he can't help himself.

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.” Jihoon says thoughtfully.

“Really?” Seungcheol is so surprised that it comes out before he thinks about it.

“You’ll come and meet my family?” Seungcheol asks, and his voice feels really high pitched right now but he can't help it—not when Jihoon is agreeing to things that make him happy.  

Jihoon’s smile is wry but real. “Of course. I mean—we’re mated now. I should have _probably_ met your family _before_ you claimed me. That’s traditional, isn’t it?” He winces, and then he scrubs his face with the back of his hand, his levity slipping away. “It would be rude not to meet them when we’re both off for the summer.”

Seungcheol grins, feeling strangely light in the chest area. “Oh god. They’re going to be so happy. I’m gonna go call them now!” He says, untangling himself from around the Omega and practically sprinting down the corridor to fetch his phone.

He’s halfway there when his instincts sing to him, telling him to return to his mate, and he stops.

He pads back into the living area to find Jihoon sitting on the edge of the couch, playing anxiously with a roll of Sellotape.  

He’s chewing on his lower lip so fiercely Seungcheol takes pity on it and reaches up to brush his fingers across Jihoon’s mouth until he stops, still thrilled by the fact that he’s  _allowed_.

“Cheol?” Jihoon blinks in confusion and Seungcheol kisses him then, slow and quiet, with no agenda at all.

He just gathers the Omega in his arms and pecks him on the lips, working his mouth open carefully with his own, while Jihoon lets a hand rest on his shoulder. He tilts his head and exhales softly into Jihoon's mouth, feels Jihoon draw breath as he shifts ever-so-slightly closer, the long, dark sweep of his eyelashes flutter shut, tangling with Seungcheol’s as they kiss.

When Seungcheol pulls away, Jihoon’s eyes are still closed, and for a second he just stands there like that. Then he blinks, slowly, twice, and a soft grin winds its way onto his lips.

“You can recycle my bucket hats if you want to.” Seungcheol offers.

Jihoon looks at him, as if trying to gauge if he's serious, then he blushes and very slowly his grin turns wicked.

* * *

_**Past** _

* * *

 

When Jihoon is nine and a half, he experiences one of the worst moments of his life. He can’t imagine that things will be better from there on out; in fact, at the time, it seems like the beginning of everything awful.

It all begins with a Birthday Party invitation left on his school desk.

One of his classmates has invited him to their party and—it’s a huge deal for him.

Up until then, he’s only ever _watched_ other children open invitations and talk excitedly about parties. He’s never been included.

He suspects he’s only being invited _this_ time because it’s his classmates coming of age party, and a decade is a celebratory occasion for any Alpha. His desk-mate, another Omega, jokes that every day is a celebration when you’re an Alpha and Alpha’s probably get a round of applause for picking their nose or wiping their butt.

Jihoon giggles because it’s a joke—but he’s not wrong.

He doesn’t expect his father to let him attend, but after he examines the card he determines that this Alpha’s family are ‘high class’ and waxes poetic about ‘bloodline purity’. He insists that Jihoon attend because— _it would look good for them to be seen at such an event._

It would have been easier had he not gone, less painful, because the minute he stepped into that Alpha’s home the day of the party, he realised how different his life was, how much greener the grass is for everyone else.

It makes him question things: _why them, why not me?_

Jihoon knows his dad is pretty bad as far as fathers go. He knows his mother just goes along with everything because she just wants an easy life and as a Beta, she is subservient to his father’s wishes.

He understands that even if he could be a little bit better at whatever he’s doing wrong, his dad wouldn’t stop screaming at him and throwing plates so they smash against the wall just left of Jihoon’s head.

There are only so many dishes in the house, and Jihoon always wonders what his dad will move on to if he runs out.

He’s never actually hurt Jihoon physically, so Jihoon counts that as a win and when he gets scared he remembers his form teacher quote once: _‘If you put your problems in a pile and saw somebody else’s, you’d take your problems back’_. So, there’s that at least.

The party is okay – it’s not great. He’s used to being either ignored or teased and he gets both, but he’s used to it by now.

Jihoon spends most of the time huddled with the other Omega’s, watching curiously as the ‘Birthday boy’ receives more care and attention in a few short hours than he has in his whole damn life.

Jihoon returns home after and wonders if _his_ coming of age day will be treated as joyously.

He doesn’t expect a party, or presents—nothing that awesome. But even if it gets mentioned, even if his parents just make _some_ effort to at least _acknowledge_ him—that would be nice.

If he gets to eat meals with the rest of the family, something to make him feel included—that would be the best thing ever.

Except, when Jihoon finally turns ten, none of this happens.

And even if some helpless corner of Jihoon's brain wishes for noise and people—for a roomful of friends to play with—the rest of him knows better. His parents have forgotten, or maybe they don’t care enough anymore.

Jihoon’s not sure, and it doesn’t really matter.

He waits all morning for _somebody_ to acknowledge him, and when it becomes apparent that afternoon that they’re treating it like any other day, he goes out into the backyard where his dad is chain smoking and says, “I’m ten today.”

“So?” Jihoon’s dad replies.

“Don’t families have coming of age celebrations?” Jihoon supplies.

“We’re not family.” His father spits.

“Well, what are we?” Jihoon asks, knowing he’s already too close to pushing it.

“We’re nothing. Go to bed; I can’t deal with you tonight.”

“It’s only four-thirty,” Jihoon says. His dad drops his cigarette on the ground and crushes the paper into the cement. His fingers shake. Jihoon swallows thickly.

“I said  _‘go to bed’_ , Jihoon.”

It scares Jihoon, how easy it is for him to choke down his tears and shrug as he walks back into the house.

He’s not even surprised, really.

His father is right—they’re not family. They’re are just strangers inhabiting the same space suffering from a serious power imbalance.

This past year, their whole relationship has gone from bad to worse. It’s not even based on anything tangible that Jihoon can mark out.

Maybe it’s because his father has been drinking more. Maybe it’s because Jihoon’s not the Alpha his father always wanted and by default it lowers his families status in the neighbourhood. Maybe it’s because his parents are in debt, but how is that his problem? Maybe it’s because Jihoon doesn’t actively depend on his parents to keep him alive like he did when he was younger.

Jihoon finds it easier not to pick out patterns.

It’s futile. Pure cruelty is random.

* * *

 

_**Present** _

* * *

 

Seungcheol likes to think himself an observant mate. Likes to think he can cater to Jihoon’s needs on a physical _and_ emotional level.

He’s conquered the physical aspect— _definitely_. He’s not being smug—but— _sexually_ , Jihoon and him are a perfect match. The sex is pretty awesome.

They haven’t tried _everything_ yet—but they’ll _probably_ get around to it at some stage.

Seungcheol hopes so. There are _things_ he—wants—he’s kinda shy about asking for. It’s hard to form the words to ask Jihoon to fuc—

You know what—that’s not the point.

The point is— _physically_ , Seungcheol’s a good mate.

Emotionally, however—Jihoon doesn’t give him a lot to work with.

Seungcheol has to ask a lot of probing questions before Jihoon reveals how he’s feeling.

He doesn’t have to ask Jihoon how he’s feeling about their upcoming visit to his parents because it’s clear as day—Jihoon is silently shitting his pants.

It begins with vacant stares and anxious fidgeting, in those times when Jihoon believes himself alone and unobserved. He’s clearly preoccupied but claims nothing of the sort when Seungcheol asks what’s on his mind.

Whatever the problem is, it’s something internal. Something within the microcosm of him and Jihoon is causing this disturbance, and that’s a situation Seungcheol isn’t sure how to deal with. Not with Jihoon continually pretending that nothing is wrong. Not with Jihoon smiling and laughing as if Seungcheol can’t see the deflection in his eyes like a flashing  _keep out_  sign.

He’s so damn reluctant to share. And yet, Jihoon clings to him at night, in bed. Some nights, almost desperately, in fact. So Seungcheol holds him back and memorizes the feel of Jihoon, warm and weighty against his side.

He’s learned to be patient with his Omega, and he utilises that well of patience now.

Jihoon will talk when he’s ready.

* * *

 

Seoul train station is a mess of broody college students and harried families dragging their children to and fro. With the starts of summer in progress, naturally the entire world considers this an ideal time to flee their perfectly adequate residences to descend upon unwitting relatives. And it would seem that every last one of them saw fit to make their way through this particular train station.

Squeaky baggage wheels and jostling elbows. Screaming babies. Garbled squawks over the speakers. The recycled air carries the funk of overheated bodies over the tops of the crowds, adding the cherry to an already intolerable cake.

The atmosphere does nothing to soothe the churning in Jihoon's gut. Very shortly, he’ll be in the home of Seungcheol’s parents. 

Hanging out with Seungcheol’s parents. In their home. For a week.

_Fuck._

Jihoon is nervous. In truth, he’s moved so beyond nervous that he doesn’t have the vocabulary to express the panicked, pins and needles feeling just under his skin.

Seungcheol, bless him, appears oblivious to Jihoon’s mild state of hysteria as he goes about navigating them out of the station in their hire car and into a soul-sucking amount of gridlock. And Jihoon is content to let that obliviousness continue for as long as it can.

Much of Jihoon’s anxiety, he acknowledges, stems from not knowing what to expect of Seungcheol’s parents. He has very little to base his expectations off of. His parents’ relationship he recalls as little more than a catalogue of assorted resentments, and he can already tell Seungcheol’s family dynamic is different to his anyway.

His overgrown puppy is a lovely man, for sure, but he’s also an Alpha and he’s from what Jihoon has gleamed a high-ranking predominantly Alpha family.

Certainly, then, his parents should be expecting a mate of much the same social standing.

Not Jihoon. Not an Omega with a watery family background and no social standing whatsoever.

What if Seungcheol’s parents want to _meet_ his parents?

What if they ask about them?

How does he handle that?

He’s not exactly keen to discuss why he hasn’t seen or spoken to his parents for over a year and why he never plans to.

Then there’s the ‘small’ matter of the ‘cum dumpster’ conversation his father overheard.

That’s going to be awkward as fuck.

Oh shit. Oh shit. He’s hyperventilating now.

* * *

 

They arrive at Seungcheol’s parents home in the middle of a sparkling afternoon. Jihoon stands frozen on the curb as Seungcheol pulls out their luggage. He doesn’t help—because he can't stop staring.

The house is  _beautiful_. Huge and old, light stone and pretentious architecture that sprawls the length of a generous, well-manicured garden. He's never set foot in a building so nice, let alone  _lived_  in one, and he can't quite wrap his brain around the fact that, this is Seungcheol’s house.

Seungcheol’s father yanks the door open before they even reach it, greeting them with a wide smile.

Mr Choi’s an Alpha; tall, dark, and unnervingly attractive. 

 _Of course he is_ , Jihoon thinks. Father and son make quite the picture as they hug with more open affection and none of the manly posturing that Jihoon had anticipated.

“Welcome home, pup.”

“Thanks,” Seungcheol steps back with a smile that’s just a tad on the shy side and draws Jihoon forward. “Uh, this is Jihoonie. Jihoonie, my dad.”

Jihoon puts on his best-yet-sincere smile and holds out his hand. “Pleasure to meet you Mr Choi. Thank you so much for having me.” He says politely.

Seungcheol’s father gives his hand a robust shake while examining him head to toe. Jihoon straightens his already tense shoulders, unsure if he should feel embarrassed or defensive by the blatant assessment.

“ _Seungcheol_ —Jihoon’s _shaking_ my hand. Didn’t you tell him my rule?” Mr Choi says.

Seungcheol grimaces. “Oh—I forgot.”

Jihoon loosens his hold on Mr Choi’s hand instantly, but he’s unable to pull his hand free from the mans grip. “Tell—me what?” He asks, entire posture suddenly rigid with confusion.

Mr Choi lifts a considering brow. “There is a very important rule in this house Jihoon. One everyone abides by. There are _no_ exceptions.” He looks super fucking serious as he says it.

Jihoon’s breath catches in his throat. He’s just about to start hyperventilating again, when Mr Choi’s face breaks into a huge grin and he holds out an arm.

The next instant is  _not_  one Jihoon could've seen coming, not with psychic powers or five hundred shakes of a Magic 8 Ball.

“Nobody steps foot in this house without a hug!” Mr Choi cheers, reeling Jihoon in for a giant hug.

Jihoon yelps as he’s manhandled in the embrace, face smushed against the mans chest. He’s squeezed tightly, affectionately, with an added hair ruffle.

When he’s released, he stumbles back towards Seungcheol on unsteady feet, blinking in confusion as Seungcheol pats his dishevelled hair back into place.

“Sorry—should have warned you about that.” Seungcheol says, grinning like an idiot.

_YES! YES—YOU SHOULD HAVE!_

“It’s fine.” He says instead.

Seungcheol’s older brother, Seungmin, comes rushing to the door next, and immediately assaults him. _Seungcheol_ that is—not Jihoon.

The concept of older brothers is alien to Jihoon, but he suspects this is normal? The headlock, the hair ruffle, the ear pulling, the affectionate jibes about Seungcheol’s weight and the quiet threats to ‘kick his ass’ whispered in his ear.

Jihoon casts around for something to say other than  _Is he always like that_ —obviously, yes—and  _Am I allowed to punch him for teasing Seungcheol_ —obviously, no. 

But Seungcheol seems okay with the doorstep bullying, and just continues to smile genially. “Seungmin stop. You’re embarrassing me in front of Jihoonie.”

Seungmin breaks into a brilliant smile, bright and uninhibited “That’s my only purpose in life.” He laughs, stepping a little closer, letting their shoulders bump.

He’s slightly taller than Seungcheol, Jihoon observes, with hair the same shade as Seungcheol's and bright eyes. He’s an Alpha too, and like his brother his tone is light, kind—Jihoon has heard Seungcheol speaking to him a few times over the phone and is pleased to discover that his voice suits his face.

When Seungmin turns to look at him, he smirks, and Jihoon realizes how much him and Seungcheol look alike.

“So—you’re the guy who has Cheollie so very whipped.” Seungmin says, shaking Jihoon’s hand.

“Whipped?” Jihoon muses. He wouldn’t have used that word _himself_ —but now that it’s in his head, he’s enchanted by it. “I feel it goes both ways honestly. Cheollie’s—very hard to say no to.”

Seungmin laughs. “That’s good to hear. Cause you won’t _believe_ how many phone calls I have had to endure with him whining ‘ _What should I do Hyung—I’m so whipped for him.”_ He says, doing a frankly superb impersonation of Seungcheol when he gets all whiny.

Seungcheol face turns an instant pink. “Dude—shut up.” He groans, but he’s still grinning.

Seungmin face turns suddenly serious. “Hey—tell me Jihoon. Be honest with me now. Does he let you top?”

“Seungmin!” Seungcheol chokes.

Seungmin just waves him off. “Don’t mind him. He’s always been squeamish. Fuck knows where he gets it from. But I’m right ya know; Alpha’s like to receive, too, remember that.” He winks at Jihoon.

“ _Oh, my god_.” Seungcheol’s blush goes considerably deeper, and he ducks his head so fast it’s a surprise he doesn’t get whiplash; Jihoon can't keep his smile in check.

He would be choking on his own saliva if he wasn’t so busy admiring the way Seungcheol’s ears go red at the tips, the way it brings out the olive tones in his complexion. Whatever else happens on this visit, this moment has already made it all so worth it.

“You’re here!” A soft voice sounds down the corridor. They turn as a group as they’re joined by a slim woman with Seungcheol’s nose and a stunning smile.

“And this must be Jihoon!” she gasps, zeroing in on the new face with a surprising amount of warm familiarity, “Welcome Jihoon! We’re so happy you’re here. Oh, look at him—isn’t he precious.” She says, a hand on her chest like the sighting of Jihoon is like the sighting of a rare baby panda.

Jihoon’s polite bow is interrupted as Mrs Choi startles him with a quick hug. He inhales in what he hopes is a subtle manner, immediately detecting the Beta scent residing beneath the layers of lotion and detergent.

He sputters some kind of greeting in reply and is still trying to figure out what to do with his hands when she whirls on her son. “And  _you_ , come here.”

This hug is decidedly longer, and a little voice in Jihoon’s head coos at the sight of Seungcheol bashfully hiding his smile in the sleek bob of his mother’s hair. “Hi, Mom.”

Seungcheol’s father watches the pair greet one another with an expression that Jihoon is hard-pressed to identify. Open happiness and infinite patience, with something rather like satisfaction mixed in.

Jihoon wonders if this is a look common to all fathers in scenarios such as this, or if the Choi family presents a unique specimen.

Seungcheol’s mother finally pulls back and begins fussing over Seungcheol the way Jihoon’s seen mothers do. “Are you putting on weight? It looks like you’re putting on weight. You’ve bulked out.”

“It’s all muscle—” Seungcheol begins.

She talks over him with a mother’s ease. “Jihoon, honey, I’m guessing this is your influence.”

Caught in that bright stare, so familiar in its intensity, Jihoon mentally ransacks his repertoire of behaviourisms for what a proper Omega would say. “Oh. Well, I—”

“I approve. He needed to gain weight.” She says.

Jihoon blinks. “Oh—yes. Awesome. Um. I bought him that shirt.”

Seungcheol’s mother laughs and does something very peculiar—she cups the side of Jihoon’s face with a soft hand and practically radiates affection.

Jihoon’s beginning to think visiting the Addams family would have been easier to handle. He’d have more in common with them at least.

“Of course you did, it’s perfect on him, and I know my boy and he doesn’t have a shred of fashion sense.” Mrs Choi says, probably referring to all the bucket hats.

Jihoon thinks he should share the good news regarding their fate.

“Jihoon went through my whole wardrobe and recycled 90% of it.” Seungcheol sulks, ratting Jihoon out— _to his mom_.

“Good. He was right to.” Mrs Choi affirms, and Seungcheol pouts.  

She turns to take Jihoon’s arms in hers, patting it gently. “Seungcheol takes after his father in that respect. Sometimes he needs these executive decisions made for him. I think if I didn’t pick his outfits out when he was younger—he would’ve worn nothing but tracksuits.”

“That’s next on my list actually.” Jihoon laughs.

“Hey!” Seungcheol huffs.

“Come on, let me show you where you boys will be staying.” Mrs Choi says, pulling Jihoon into the house.

The guestroom is a cozy affair, artfully done in deep blues and warm wood tones. Seungcheol’s mother shows off the space with obvious pride, and it’s clear they’ve redecorated the space just for this visit.

“Fresh towels are in the ensuite next door, and there’s extra blankets in that chest there if you need. You need anything and can’t see it—let me know. Now—I know it was a long journey, so if you want to freshen up a bit and relax, dinner won’t be ready until six.”

“And don’t worry,” Seungcheol’s father interjects with a toothy grin, “Our room is clear on the other side of the house, so just make yourselves at home. Nobody is going to disturb you. These walls are soundproof too by the way. And look,” he flicks a switch on the wall, dimming the lights into a soft orange glow “— _mood lighting.”_

Seungcheol promptly starts to shove his father out the room. “Jesus, Dad.”

“I just want Jihoon to be comfortable here,” His father retorts, dragging his feet. “You’re two healthy young men, after all. And you're newly mated, you have _needs,_ we understand that. Don’t stand in the way of nature, I always say.”

“When have you _ever_ said that?” Seungcheol guffaws.

Seungcheol’s mother just tuts over the two like this is an everyday occurrence. “Would you behave please—you’ll scare Jihoon away.”

“I always behave.” Seungcheol’s father laughs, but he lets his wife steer him through the door, leaning over to whisper in her ear. Seconds later, they hear laughter and possible conspiring down the hallway. Seungcheol cringes and closes the bedroom door by falling back against it.

“I’m sorry about that.” Seungcheol says, bumping his head against the wood in a vague gesture. He’s staring at the ceiling with the air of someone who's excitedly brought their first boyfriend home, only for his family to behave like a bunch of lunatics. His expression keeps shifting between misery, confusion and embarrassment. “They’re not usually that weird. They’re just so excited you’re here.”

Moderately disturbed but charmed beyond telling, Jihoon stands on his tip toes to peck Seungcheol lightly on the lips. “It’s fine—it’s hilarious actually. They’re _really—cool_ parents. I appreciate the lack of formality, it's refreshing.”

Seungcheol heaves a sigh of relief. “Good, cause I want you to be comfortable. I’m glad we came. I’m so happy you’re here with me.”

“Me too.” Jihoon smiles.

He kicks back on the bed and absorbs his surroundings, feeling some of the day’s anxiety slip away with every second he spends watching Seungcheol move around the room as he unpacks.

He wiggles about, toeing off his shoes and nudging them over the side of the bed, surreptitiously studying the phenomenal curve of Seungcheol’s ass as he bends down to rifle through a drawer.

He replays an earlier conversation in his head and finds a grin forming on his face easily.

“Ya know Cheollie,” He starts, drawing Seungcheol’s attention. “I think it’s very _interesting_ what your brother said earlier.”

Seungcheol fidgets with the phone charger in his hand, his eyes are wide, eyebrows humorously high. “About what?”  

Jihoon waits for a beat—purposefully, eyes narrowing as Seungcheol’s eyes go impossibly wider. He slides off the bed and stalks closer, watching Seungcheol’s throat work through a thick swallow.

He waits till he’s standing directly in front of Seungcheol before cleverly deflecting. “About you being whipped for me. It's _cute.”_

Seungcheol’s eyebrows return to his face from where they’d hit the ceiling.

“Oh, Yeah—well—it’s true.” He murmurs, dropping his gaze and rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “But—you knew that already.” He adds, with this horrible fake nonchalance that Jihoon can see straight through. And what's churning underneath feels bashful and excited.

Seungcheol doesn't say a word when Jihoon shifts a little, until Jihoon can slot their hips together and slide his hands around Seungcheol’s waist.

“Hmm—yeah. I did.” He whispers, palming Seungcheol’s ass. The Alpha shivers pleasantly at the touch and makes a noise that makes Jihoon grin: a tiny, involuntary grunt of excitement. “But sometimes—I like to see _evidence.”_ He adds, giving Seungcheol’s butt a rough squeeze.

Seungcheol’s eyebrows are back on the ceiling as Jihoon strolls past him to the bathroom.

* * *

 

Seungcheol isn’t exactly nervous, per se, about bringing his mate home to see his family, but he is a little concerned.

Jihoon hardly said a word during the train journey but babbled incessantly on the drive from the station to the house.  And then there was that small hyperventilating episode as they pulled up the drive, which Jihoon had tried to pass off as accidentally swallowing his gum.

And Seungcheol gets it, he really does.

For all that they’ve been each other’s shadows for the last year, it’s only been a couple of months since they first admitted to being in love. In a way, their relationship is still a delicate thing to be coveted between them. Sharing it, sharing  _them_  with anyone, even his parents, has Seungcheol feeling a little raw and exposed. He can imagine how much worse it must be for Jihoon.

He makes the mistake of mentioning some of this to his mother while he helps her set the table. She just laughs at him and tells him it’s a normal feeling, insists they’re going through a honeymoon phase.

“It’s cute,” she says.

Seungcheol pouts and spends the next twenty minutes eulogising his favourite sports team and giving a blow by blow account of the last basketball match he watched in enthusiastic, excruciating detail until his mothers eyes glaze over. Because he doesn’t do  _cute_ , thank you very much.

His mother’s gleeful good cheer revives itself when they sit down for dinner. His parents have gone all out—it’s like Christmas dinner on the table— _but better._

The table is loaded down with more food than the five of them could possible eat in a single night, which Seungcheol knows is his mother’s way of contingency planning in case Jihoon ends up allergic to baked potatoes or something.

He tried to tell her that Jihoon will eat just about anything—with a notable and extreme exception for spicy foods—and that she didn’t need to go out of her way with meal-planning. Indeed, Jihoon looks a teensy bit daunted by the three varieties of meat set out on the table alongside all the trimmings and potatoes done _five different ways._

The Omega looks so tiny sitting next to Seungmin, practically hidden behind the heap of mashed potatoes. He's holding his fork so tightly like he might need, at any moment, to stab something in defence. Seungcheol kind of hopes he doesn't because his parents are pretty firm about no stabbing people with cutlery over family dinner.

Seungcheol knows Jihoon is naturally reserved and quiet, and this doesn’t change dramatically during dinner but Seungcheol can see him trying to open up a little more with each question, exposing a little more of his sweet self.

He watches Jihoon’s face warm as his father congratulates him on his scholarship and completing his first year, as it always does whenever someone pays Jihoon a compliment. His precious puddin still doesn't know how to gracefully navigate the waters of flattery, so instead he shakes his head a little and smiles politely "Lucky first-timer."

Seungcheol hadn’t advised his parents on topics they _shouldn’t_ discuss—but they seem to instinctively know what _not_ to mention—namely—Jihoon’s family.

Call it maternal or paternal instinct—they just seem to _know_.

Usually occasions such as this would be attended by both sides of the family but Seungcheol can safely guess that’s never going to happen.

All things considered, though, Seungcheol is very pleased with how well this visit is going. Like he told Jihoon, he’s glad that they came.

There’s something different about this visit, and not just the obvious of bringing his perfect mate with him. Yes, he’s happy to be introducing them and seeing the way his parents gush over his mate. But there’s more.

He’s oddly excited to see his family, to be spending a mundane week with them just kicking around the house and showing Jihoon around. It’s not until Seungmin winks at him over the gravy bowl that Seungcheol realizes that his excitement stems from his family seeing  _him_ , who he is _now_ that Jihoon is an integral part of his life.

He has a mate. He has responsibilities. A beautiful future.

He watches Jihoon, now, loving the fact that he can sit here and look all he wants just for the simple pleasure of it.

But then something happens.

Jihoon looks shell shocked as he’s served the largest lamb chop— _terrified_ almost. Seungcheol can smell how his scent shifts, how his pulse beats faster. He can see the tightness around his eyes and the tension running across his shoulders.

The hesitation in Jihoon’s response withers the happy warmth Seungcheol was feeling before. And Jihoon’s answering smile as his plate is piled high is too nervous and terrified to be genuine.

_Why would he react like that to such a simple gesture?_

He means to consider it further actually, and then is distracted by Seungmin sharing a story from work.

When he looks back to Jihoon, Seungcheol is caught for a second, dazed in the headlights, by the way his mate is looking at him.  He’s watching him with honest, undeniable affection written across his face.

He catches Seungcheol’s eye and quirks a smile at him. It's not…well. It's a happy smile, certainly, but there's a little twist of sadness in it too, caught at the corners of his mouth.

Jihoon’s eyes are heavy with something Seungcheol can't read. He'd like to blame the messy fringe of his bangs for settling in his face and trying to obstruct his vision, but the truth is that this one's on him. Jihoon's eyes are trying to tell him something, and Seungcheol can't quite connect the dots.

It says things about growing up Seungcheol thinks he is still too young to know.

This might be nothing. Just nerves. Second-thoughts brought on by meeting Seungcheol’s parents and the permanency suggested by this visit. Nothing to worry about when all is said and done.

* * *

Dinner is an extraordinary experience for Jihoon, one that leaves him shaken for so many reasons.

“Jihoon—you’re the special guest.” Mrs Choi says, leaning over his shoulder with a platter of sizzling lamb chops. “So you get the biggest piece.”

Jihoon double-takes and stares for a moment, trying to find his voice through the tightness suddenly clogging his chest and throat.

“What? No—I shouldn’t.” he finally manages. His voice feels husky and rough. “I—can’t. Mr Choi should surely—I’m—"

“Pffft. I have to watch my cholesterol.” Mr Choi dismisses. “You get the biggest piece, and I won’t hear another word. We need to fatten you up!”

“Oh, no please. I’m not a big eater.” Jihoon tries to argue.

“That’s a lie—” Seungcheol pipes up, grinning at him across the table. “He eats more than me—just slower.” He teases.

Jihoon can feel the blood rising in his face, and bites the inside of his cheek, thankful for the low light. 

“Then it’s settled.” Mrs Choi smiles, sliding the serving onto his plate.

Jihoon throws up a practiced smile and thanks Mrs Choi as she fills his plate with all the trimmings.

He really, _really_ wasn’t expecting that.

His memories of dinner with his parents had been far from pleasant. There had been no warmth, nobody filling his plate, no indulgent smiles. Just silence and over-salted potatoes.

One particular memory is always hard to swallow.

He’d been seven or eight—hard to remember now—sat at the dining table with a formal spread and his parents and their guests at the end. He remembers watching his mother working her way around the table with a serving platter of meat, and completely bypassing him even though there was plenty.

As he got older and his father grew crueller, he wasn’t even allowed to dine at the table with his family.

He usually ate in the kitchen after everyone else had eaten—and dinners became peanut butter sandwiches or whatever leftovers Jihoon could cobble together. As it spared him an evening in his father’s company, Jihoon hadn’t really minded.

The portions he received were hardly sufficient for a growing boy, and more often than not, he would sneak down to the kitchen at night after his parents had gone to sleep to make a midnight sandwich.

He remembers being caught once—getting punished for stealing, for _wasting_ food. He remembers the pain, the humiliation of being sent to the nurses office the next day in school because he couldn’t pick up his pencil his hand hurt so bad.

He’d thought, back then, that he knew what hurt was, but he’d only just tasted its edges.

Mrs Choi slides another lamb chop on his plate and it's only then Jihoon realizes how far into his thoughts he's sunk. It takes him an extra few seconds to haul himself back to the present.

He loosens his tight grip on his fork and tries to focus on the future, tries to focus on enjoying dinner with Seungcheol’s sweet family because the past hurts too much, all the angry, negative thoughts about his childhood overwhelming him and leaving him breathless.

He prefers to viciously smother the image of his parents faces when they suddenly, and unexpectedly, flare up in his mind's eye.

They don't matter anymore, he tells himself. 

But the true revelation doesn’t come from the massive portion sizes he’s being graced with. It comes from observing Seungcheol with his family.

The easy affection between them draws Jihoon’s focus every time they touch, poke fun at one another, tell jokes, raucous stories with ridiculous endings, or reference family memories that Jihoon wasn’t a part of.

He’s never seen Seungcheol so relaxed with anyone except himself, and he wants to relish the experience. He truly does.

It’s just that…

Seeing how loving and, frankly,  _normal_  Seungcheol’s family are puts him off-kilter. This is the foundation Seungcheol grew up with—love, acceptance, understanding—and it’s something that Jihoon has fuck-all in common with.

It's freakin' surreal, and considering Jihoon's life to date, that's really saying something.

It’s not that Jihoon wishes Seungcheol’s background were as fucked up as his own. He’s pleased and shouldn’t be at all surprised to know that Seungcheol—his big, goofy, cinnamon roll Alpha—comes from this, two people that love him openly and without reservation or conditions.

He just wonders why does Seungcheol even _wants_ to be with him?

It would make more sense for Seungcheol to claim an equally friendly, chirpy and bright Omega instead of a broken, world-weary one that only warms his blood with the heat of passion.

And he’s fully aware of how trite and pathetic he’s being now. Doubting. All these  _insecurities_. God, even the word makes him want to slap himself in annoyance.

Only… how much easier this whole family situation would have been, had he and Seungcheol been from similar circumstances. And, yes, if Jihoon is being honest with himself, a part of him feels rocked by the massive differences in their backgrounds.

The more time he spends here, observing the strong bonds of respect and affection that knit the Choi family together, the less sense any of it makes. And how can he ever understand what an Alpha like Seungcheol is doing, devoting himself to a broken Omega like Jihoon?

“Would you like seconds sweety?” Seungcheol’s mother asks, startling Jihoon out of his thoughts.

Jihoon glances down to realise he’s cleared his plate. When did that happen?

Seungcheol’s mother sees his confusion with a beatific smile and gleaming eyes. She leans over to take his plate, “I’m so happy you enjoyed it, and there’s plenty more where that came from. Please tell me you’ll have more?”

“Uhmm—okay. Thank you.” Jihoon says, handing his plate to Mrs Choi’s outstretched arm.

“…so then he tells me they were real coconuts, after all.” Seungmin says, on the tail end of a story he’s sharing.

Jihoon watches, bemused, as Seungcheol, Seungmin and their father double over in laughter. He waits to hear what’s so hilarious about coconuts, but neither man can catch their breath long enough to explain.

Seungcheol just keeps gasping  _coconuts_ , which sets his brother off in fresh giggles, until both of them finally sit up, wipe tears of mirth from their cheeks, and toast each other with their beers.

Seungcheol looks at him then, checking in on him with a warm smile. Jihoon smiles back.

“Jihoon—” Mr Choi says, hands resting on the table. “Seungcheol tells me how much you love chocolate pudding.”

“Uhm—Yes. I do.”

“It’s how you guys met, isn’t it?” Seungmin adds, wiping his hands on a napkin. “You both reached for the same chocolate pudding. Your hands touched—there were sparks—your eyes met—the world stood still—” Seungmin says wistfully, “then you accused Cheollie of stealing your pudding.” He finishes with a laugh.

Seungcheol kicks him under the table.

Jihoon grins and shrugs his shoulders. “Yeah—guess I kinda did.”

Mr Choi laughs warmly. “Well, then you’ll be happy to hear Mrs Choi has the best family recipe for chocolate pudding. And she’s made two. One for the rest of us, and one all to yourself.”

“I told them how possessive you are about your food, especially pudding.” Seungcheol winks.

Jihoon’s ears warm in response. “Oh my god. That’s not true! I can share—I don’t need a whole one by myself.”

Mr Choi chuckles, reaching across the table to gently pat the back of his hand. The physical contact is unexpected and Jihoon tenses up a bit, surprised and a bit out of his depth. But before he can make the moment awkward, Mr Choi withdraws his hand. “Just wait till you taste it—you wont want to share.”

Jihoon knows they’re just doing all this for him, of course, and he wants to tell them that they shouldn’t have, or couldn’t have because real people aren’t that heart-wrenchingly lovely. He can’t though, because Mrs Choi is dishing him up a humongous portion of pudding with cream and practically spoon feeding him it.

* * *

 

After dinner, Mrs Choi ushers them into the living area as she prepares coffee.

Jihoon dutifully offers to help Mr Choi clear the table, but he just laughs and laughs like that’s most hilarious thing he’s ever heard.

Seungcheol and his brother fall into an amicable enough argument about sports teams, and Jihoon tunes them out, looking around. The practice of preserving rooms after the children have left the house is one he's never understood, but he's grateful for it now.

There are little mementos of Seungcheol’s childhood all over the place, photos of him as a kid with cheeky smiles, and tiny pink scissors and adorable bubbliness, which Jihoon makes a mental note to steal at the first opportunity. There are also a number of plaques, academic awards, sports trophies and the like, and—

“Oh my god. _Ice skating?”_ Jihoon asks, amused.

"What?" Seungcheol says, rolling over to look at him. Jihoon holds up one of the trophies, gawking. "Oh, yeah. Uhm—the ice hockey team was above capacity and I needed a winter sport. So, I uhm—can you just pretend you didn’t see that."

" _No—_ I’m going to take a picture of this. I’m going to share it with _everyone_." Jihoon grins, gratified by the blush over the bridge of Seungcheol’s nose and Seungmin’s answering laugh. "And what else did you get up to as a child, hmm?"

“Oh, you know,” Seungcheol cough, clears his throat and rolls his shoulders with a hint of posturing. “—baseball. Basketball. Football. Wrestling.”

 _Ballet_ , Seungmin mouths over his shoulder.  _Ballet_. And then he mimes a pirouette that Seungcheol catches as he turns his head back around.

“Seungmin!” Seungcheol growls, earning a wolfish grin from his brother.

“I’m going to help mum in the kitchen!” Seungcheol huffs, storming out of the living room as Seungmin cackles.

“He was in the boy scouts too yanno.” Seungmin says after he regains himself.

“Of course he was.” Jihoon says, the twitch at the corner of his mouth mutating into a grin. 

* * *

 

When they retire to their room that night, Jihoon is exhausted.

Not _physically_ , but emotionally and mentally.

He goes about his bedtime routine almost mindlessly, and flops down in the middle of comforter—not even possessing the energy to climb under it.  

Seungcheol will just have to sleep around him—or on top of him—or on the floor, cause Jihoon's not moving.

When Seungcheol comes out of the bathroom, Jihoon can hear his quiet laughter as he takes in the sight of Jihoon claiming the entire king sized bed to himself.

A minute later, he dims the lights and scoops Jihoon up, slipping him under the duvet before climbing in behind him. Jihoon grumbles protest but arches his back in search of him, marvelling at the impossible wall of heat radiating from his mates body.

Jihoon grunts surprise when Seungcheol curls around him like an octopus and tries to use him as a pillow. “Mine—mine—mine.” He murmurs, as he does every night, nuzzling Jihoon contently.

“Yes Cheol. I know that babe. You remind me every day.” Jihoon says, voice sleepy and cranky and shivery all at once.

Seungcheol chuckles. “I’m not reminding _you_. I’m reminding myself of how lucky I am.” He whispers.

It’s achingly tender, and Jihoon lets a soft, helpless sound roll from his throat. He clings a little tighter to his mate, and lights up from somewhere no one but Seungcheol can reach.

* * *

 

The next morning, Seungmin heads to work and Seungcheol goes to town to help his father run errands. After Jihoon has a little lie in, he heads downstairs for breakfast.

He’s wearing his Pyjamas, which really are just shorts and one of Seungcheol’s threadbare T-shirts that he swims in. Usually he wouldn’t second guess his choice of attire, but he’s working under the assumption that it’s just Seungcheol’s mother in the house, and not a gaggle of older women.

Mrs Choi is running some kind of cookery class or book club or religious cult meeting or something, and it seems every woman in the neighbourhood is invited.

The minute Jihoon steps into the kitchen he’s subjected to a round of cooing and awing and cheek pinching and head petting and any minute now there will be a Jihoon shaped hole in the kitchen window if they don’t stop.

Seungcheol’s mother seems to sense his distress and shoos everyone away, ushering Jihoon into a seat.

He endures eating pancakes at the breakfast table surrounded by several of Seungcheol’s doting neighbours. They fawn over him and pile his plate high and openly discuss how fucking precious he is while staring, expressions so focused and intense that Jihoon wants to blink  _for_  them.

Jesus Christ, you’d think they’ve never seen an Omega eat pancakes before.

One of them even tries to take a picture, before Seungcheol’s mother shoots a disapproving glare.  

Seriously, if these pancakes weren’t amazing—he’d be out of here.

“So Jihoon, have you and Seungcheol got plans for the summer?” One of the more intrusive women asks.

Jihoon swallows around a mouthful and nods. “Seungcheol’s starting his job next week, and I have a project before the start of term to complete. So we’re gonna be pretty busy all summer. Oh, and we’re moving into a new apartment when we get back.”

“A project?” The woman asks quizzically. She tips her head to the side like a bird.

“Yes, Jihoon is a musical prodigy.” Seungcheol’s mother interjects, her eyes gleaming proudly when Jihoon looks up at her in surprise.

It's undeniably a compliment, but Jihoon isn't used to receiving those, so he doesn't really know how to process it. “Ah—I’m not honestly.”

“Don’t be so modest dear.” Seungcheol mother says, firmly, like she expected him to deny it. “Seungcheol says you have the voice of an angel and a way with music that is incomparable.”

Jihoon flushes pink. He wishes he could emit confidence, but instead he squirms in his seat slightly feeling flustered and over-saturated as everyone at the table Hhms and nods like they expected as much.

“Jihoon is attending Seoul University on a full scholarship and they’re lucky to have him.” She adds, her expression is softer when he looks at her next, maybe even a little fond.

Jihoon’s really starting to feel like a baby panda in the zoo under her adoring gaze. Actually—he feels like he’s taking part in that Will Smith meme.

“Your parents must be so proud!” One of the women says. “Why aren’t they here with you?” She adds and only realises the inappropriateness of her question when she’s already two words in.

Jihoon’s in the middle of taking a sip of coffee and ends up spilling a little out of the side of the cup.  “I—a—I—” he stutters, unreasonable panic gripping him.

“Let me get you a refill of coffee dear!” Seungcheol’s mother cuts in smoothly, something like sympathy filling her gaze as she refills his cup. Her free hand squeezes Jihoon's shoulder gently; it's a comforting gesture.

She prevents anymore obtrusive questions by immediately delving back into her cookery club, and drawing the rooms attention away from Jihoon.

He’s never been more grateful.

* * *

_**Past** _

* * *

 

They say time passes slowly when the world hurts most — and too damn fast in the moments of respite between — but in the end, there's one inevitability that trumps.

Time passes.

When Jihoon is eighteen his father returns from work one day and announces that he has a potential suitor for Jihoon, and that he would be coming to dinner for an introduction.

These things, Jihoon knows, are more inspection than introduction, allowing suitors to search for flaws, scars, breeding potential.

The visit couldn’t have come at a worse time for Jihoon. It’s a handful of weeks before the end of his final year at school and he’s still anxiously waiting for his exam results, for confirmation of a scholarship that will secure his future and get him the fuck out of here.

His parents had arranged a string of visits, one after the other for the past few months that have resulted in unscheduled interruptions to Jihoon’s school attendance. Despite warning letters from the school board that education for all regardless of status is compulsory, his parents continue to pull him out of class.

They’re getting increasingly desperate to arrange a mate for him. 

Jihoon doesn’t argue with them, he’s learnt not to. His scholarship is a complete secret and the last thing he wants to do is fuck up his chances by saying something in a moment of ill-timed honesty.  

Jihoon might not be enthusiastic about mating with a man he doesn't know, but that trepidation is outweighed by the fear of his father, who will throttle him if he ruins this arrangement.

Despite balking at the idea mentally, he accepts that he’ll have to give the illusion of obedience for now and wait this out.

The whole visit is excruciating.

Jihoon walks into the room hyper-focused on every detail of the ground in front of him with each step, reminding himself to walk slowly, to be calm and precise, to convey that he is patient and pliant, still an obedient Omega despite his rebellious reputation.

He mentally checks over every inch of his posture: hands crossed behind his back, head bowed low enough to show the vulnerable curve of his neck.

Jihoon’s father introduces him, and Jihoon doesn’t bother to remember the Alpha’s name. He has to call him sir anyway.

Jihoon hears the man rise and only has a moment to brace himself as a hand reaches towards his head, then large fingers tip his chin upwards. Jihoon moves with them, easy and obedient, keeping his eyes averted. Many Alpha’s see eye contact as a sign of disrespect, and it’s safer to fix his gaze on the wear lines in the leather of the man's shoes while he makes sure Jihoon's face is fair and unmarked.

"As you see Mr Chan—Jihoon will make a great second mate."

So the Alpha is in the market for a second Omega, Jihoon thinks, heart pounding.

It’s practically unheard of in this day and age for an Alpha to take a second mate—but this Alpha clearly has a vested interest in breeding as many pups as possible, and so Jihoon has the possibility of spending the rest of his life on his back, being fucked for heirs.

Contrary, the Alpha clears his throat and said, "Let's take a look at you. Eyes on me, now," and Jihoon blinks slowly, stomach twisting, before meeting the grey eyes of the Alpha standing in front of him.

The Alpha is big, Jihoon observes nervously. Not very tall, but he’s thick with muscles apparent even through his suit. His hands look like they could hurt easily, and when he shifts, Jihoon can see the definition in his arms under the jacket he wears. Even a casual slap would land fiercely.

He looks like a man accustomed to getting his way, a man who wouldn't listen to the word 'no'. Jihoon swallows, already dreading how the man might seal the deal before Jihoon finishes school. Then he’ll really, truly be trapped.

His brain kicks into crisis mode, and he's already planning strategy. The bus station doesn't open until five a.m., but it won’t take long to pack what little he needs. He has a friend that might let him crash until morning.

“You’re not fertile.” The Alpha says and Jihoon's train of thought screeches to a startled pileup.

“Huh?”

The Alpha leans in slowly, sniffs the air near Jihoon’s ear. “Not—fertile.” He repeats, eyes narrowing.

Jihoon tenses, unsure if the statement is directed at him or at the room in general. He waits for some kind of indication of what to do next, some signal that he has permission to speak. The Alpha shoves his chin up and he prays that he isn't misinterpreting his cue.

"No. Not yet—sir," he whispers, cursing himself mentally at the tremor in his voice.

One of those large palms grips his chin and Jihoon flinches. He can't read the man's face at all, can't tell if he is displeased, can't even tell from his fathers expression when his eyes dart to his frantically whether he's made some terrible misstep.

His father steps in then, looking sheepish. “Ahh—you’re right. He’s not. But he will be soon.”

The Alpha snarls in irritation. “That’s something you should have disclosed earlier. I need him to be fertile immediately.”

“He’s just a late bloomer. But our local expert insists when he _does_ become fertile he’ll be able to breed continuously. And maybe with the potential for litters at time.”

“I doubt that.” The Alpha answers succinctly, waving his hand through the air as if swatting away a fly. “He’s small—even for an omega. I’d rather take my chances with an Omega that can guarantee a  healthy Alpha now, than risk a litter of more useless Omega’s.”

Jihoon tenses at the assessment. He’s sure the line of his back is so tight that one could bounce quarters off it. He wants to scream, he wants to push the man away, he wants to set things on  _fire_ , but he knows that wouldn't be helpful. He tips his head down a little instead.

“I assure he’s capable of that too—he’s just developing slower. I can show you the report.” Jihoon’s father rushes to assure.

The Alpha sneers. “Don’t bother. You haven’t been very transparent with me. I don’t like my time being wasted.” He spits, striding out of the room with Jihoon’s apologetic father hot on his heels.

Jihoon waits to hear the car pull out of the drive before he lets out a quiet sigh of relief, but the relief doesn’t last long.

“Why do you have to be so useless!” His father seethes.

Jihoon turns to find him standing just inside the doorway, hands balled into tight fists.  

“I didn’t _do_ anything.” Jihoon says, and if his voice rises it's not his fault.

Of course, it’s the wrong thing to say. Of course, it’s his fault. It’s _always_ his fault.

His father crosses the space between them in three strides. Jihoon’s head snaps back as his father’s hand connects with his face. It is more the surprise and less the feel of his nose crunching under the flat of his father’s palm that makes all the air rush from Jihoon’s lungs.

The numb veneer of shock shields him for a moment, but it bleeds away too fast. Clears a path for an impotent rage that edges in on him by degrees.

“Always talking back. You think you’re so smart, think your worth something on your own, but you’re not.” Jihoon’s father is shouting, much too loud for how close his face is to Jihoon’s. “This is why you are such a burden, why we’ll never be rid of you.” He growls, storming out of the room with Jihoon’s mother in tow.

 _I’ll be out of your way soon enough—_ He stops himself from shouting back.

Jihoon’s breaths are short, high gasps. He can taste the trickle of blood from his nose in the back of his mouth.

It's a full two minutes before Jihoon can move his feet, one in front of the other, step by step until he reaches his room. He sits on the edge of the bed and has an internalised mental breakdown that lasts three hours. He sits blankly staring at the walls, all his thoughts and feelings behaving like separate islands in his head, like he cannot  _connect_  anymore.

When he scrapes himself back together the blood has crusted on his face and it’s dark outside.

Just a few more weeks, he tells himself.

A week later, his parents schedule another visit.

Another Alpha. Another prestigious family. Another handsome fee for his life.

But the night before his suitor is expected, Jihoon has packed a few meagre possessions, borrowed money from his kind form teacher and is on his way to Seoul with a scholarship confirmation.

 _Eat shit and die_ —he scribbles on a piece of paper. He intends to leave it for his parents, but he doesn’t

They’re not even worth it.

* * *

 

_**Present** _

* * *

 

Jihoon wakes to fingers brushing with gentle familiarity through his hair, and a hand resting like ownership on the back of his neck. His eyes blink open slowly.

He doesn’t know how long he napped for, but it’s dark and cool in the room and it takes a few minutes to adjust to the lack of light.

When he turns his head, Seungcheol is sitting propped-up against the headboard next to him.

He looks freshly showered with damp hair and a towel wrapped around his neck, and he’s also wearing his  _let's talk about our feelings_  face.

Jihoon fucking hates that face, especially lately. He's got too many damn feelings – about Seungcheol, about college, about his fucked up childhood – and they're tangled up so tight he doesn't know how to even  _start_  unwinding them.

“Are you okay?” Seungcheol asks him, careful concern darkening his voice. “My mum is worried about you.”

Jihoon sits up abruptly, “W-what? Why? Was I rude? Did I say something inappropriate? I swear I didn’t mean to. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to behave and I didn’t mean to—"

“Jihoon— _relax_.” Seungcheol says, leaning forward to speak softly into the curve of Jihoon’s neck just under his ear. Jihoon instantly relaxes. It’s amazing the effect his mate has on him. “You we’re fine. They love you.”

“Yeah?”

Seungcheol’s fingers are back in his hair and his gaze is soft and direct. “Of course. They’re so happy you’re here. And they’re my parents, I can tell. I’m worried I might _actually_ have to smuggle you out of here when we come to leave. They might try and keep you. I heard them call this room— _Jihoon’s_ room.”

Jihoon leans back against the pillows, finds he can only smile at that. “They’re really sweet. I see where you get it from.”

Seungcheol grins, but it doesn’t stay on his face long. He stares past him for a second, brow slightly furrowed. “It’s just—my mum told me one of my nosey neighbours asked you about your parents and—you seemed a little—I _dunno_. She’s just worried you’re upset.”

“No, I just--” Jihoon tries to swallow the words down, so they can just lie here like this forever, and everything that changed what they are can stay just out of the frame, permanently suspended. He doesn’t want to concern Seungcheol, doesn’t want Seungcheol to act differently around him. He’s sick of being treated like a fragile glass figurine. The words stick in his mouth and he has to say them: “I’m just adjusting to this family dynamic I guess. But I’m fine.”

“ _Jihoonie_.” Seungcheol drawls, now wearing his  _I'm a stubborn little shit_  face; the one Jihoon can argue with until he's blue in the face and still not get past.

“Your parents….your family are so nice. I’m—not used to that and it’s a lot to take in. But I’m trying.”

He chances a look at Seungcheol's face, which is worryingly blank right now. “You mentioned your father once—when you were drunk. I get the impression he wasn’t a very nice person. You never talk about either of your parents actually—I just wanted to know why.”

“Because I didn’t have any.” Jihoon snaps, then reigns himself in quickly, rolling over to face away from Seungcheol.  His eyes start to water, and he's glad he has his back to Seungcheol. It's a silly thing to be embarrassed about, but he still feels his cheeks heating with shame at the thought of crying in front of him. “Not—really anyway. Not like you do.”

Jihoon scrubs a hand over his hair, and wishes he knew how to phrase this better. Wishes he knew how to make it make sense out of his head. This is why Jihoon hates words—they're never adequate. He could tell Seungcheol everything, but it won't be anywhere near enough to articulate the pain of those memories.

“I’m sorry.” Seungcheol whispers, and suddenly he's there, pressed close and warm against his back and wrapping his arms around Jihoon. His presence wards off the chill and makes Jihoon shiver for entirely different reasons—Jihoon doesn't think he'll ever get tired of the effect Choi Seungcheol has on him. 

He falls silent again for long moments, dark and pensive, and Jihoon lets his eyes drift shut. Waiting for something. Or just avoiding reality for a few minutes, focusing instead on the safe contentment that comes from the circle of Seungcheol's arms.

By all rights he should be safe, should have written that future out of existence already by virtue of the fact that he is  _here_  with Seungcheol, not out there somewhere tied to an arranged courtship and breeding his only purpose in life.

“Look—it’s just something I’d rather forget. It won’t make a difference if I tell you so let’s not talk about it.” Jihoon's throat goes tight.

"Okay," Seungcheol says quietly. "Whatever you say." The surrender is too fast, and too dejected, and Jihoon heaves an irritated sigh. He can already picture the kicked-puppy look Seungcheol is giving him behind his back.

The silence stretches until Jihoon can feel it starting to fray around the edges. He hangs on to it, not moving, not even breathing though his heart beats in double-time. A lifetime of insecurities and doubt creep into the forefront of his mind, and by the time Seungcheol starts talking again Jihoon’s already had dozens of thoughts fly through his head, most of them of the not-good variety.

“Look, you don’t have to tell me,” Seungcheol says. The words are gentle on the back of Jihoon’s neck. “But you fucking can, you know. Whatever happened is not going to change how I feel about you. I just want to understand because I love you. I’ll listen to whatever you’re ready to share.”

Jihoon shifts in his arms, turning just enough to look at him, and he's surprised to discover that Seungcheol’s looking at him with wet eyes now, soft and worried, with a buried hint of guilt.

Jihoon exhales, and his chest feels suddenly tight with how much he loves him.

Seungcheol has a way of slipping past him, of getting a messy fist around his heart. It’s too much, Jihoon thinks. It is terrifying, to feel this, to hold and feel and need someone like blood in the veins.

With difficulty, he makes himself meet Seungcheol's eyes as calmly as he can and somehow—impossibly—finds a steady enough voice to speak.

“Okay, I’ll tell you….”

Jihoon tells him everything he can remember. He doesn’t hold back, because there’s got to be at least one person in the world who knows Jihoon and all the shit he’s dealt with and likes him anyway, and he’s sure, Seungcheol is that person.

* * *

 

“And that’s why—I don’t really talk about them.” Jihoon finishes.

“Jihoon I—” Seungcheol tries, feeling stunned, jaw working uselessly. His hands are balled to fists, because  _fucking hell_ , he can't imagine it.

He knew Jihoon’s childhood hadn't been a fucking picnic, and there had been days, certainly, when he'd revealed a little about what he had to endure. But this was worse--because god, what would it be like to have grown up like that, surrounded by that level of loathing? Just because he was an Omega.

How long had Jihoon known he wasn't the person they were expecting, the person he'd been obligated to be, and lived with that?

And suddenly, a thousand things slot into place, a tangle of dangling threads he's never quite unravelled.

Jihoon, who is possessive of his food because he never got enough to eat, who looked stunned and sick when he dropped a piece of bacon on the floor. Jihoon, who’s afraid of Alpha’s and unexpected intimacy; Jihoon, who fled halfway across the country without a second thought. Jihoon who never asks for what he wants, Jihoon who says "just tell me I'm not doing it wrong," Jihoon whose first defence is a strong offense. Jihoon, who finds it hard to trust. Jihoon, who plays it close to the chest.

Seungcheol’s not entirely sure what to do. His first instinct is to give Jihoon some space, but he thinks that might be the wrong move here. He curls around his mate instead, pressing in close. He lets his hands come to rest in the middle of Jihoon’s back. His thumbs skim over the skin a little, back and forth. 

He feels horrifically out of place.

He has no idea how to touch someone this way, how to give simple comforts with his body.

He hopes he’s doing it right.

"I'm sorry," Jihoon says awkwardly, reaching out and finding the patch of stubble Seungcheol had missed shaving that morning. He rubs at it, his brow furrowed. "I didn’t been to put a damper on your mood."

"You didn’t." Seungcheol says quietly, harshly, rubbing a hand over his forehead.

“You look uncomfortable. That’s why I didn’t want to share. I was hoping to avoid this.”

Seungcheol shuts his eyes and shakes his head, frown still tight between his eyebrows. "It's not that. I’m glad you told me—I _needed_ to know Jihoonie. I just—feel so angry—I wannna—”

He can feel himself vibrating with rage that has nowhere to go. He can't remember the last time he was _this_ angry and this helpless at once.

He wants to destroy something. Make somebody bleed. He can’t find any words for it—for how fiercely he wants to tear the weight of those memories from Jihoon, for how illogical it is to want to kill a man he never met. If he ever gets his hands on Jihoon’s terrible excuse for a father….

The things Seungcheol would do for his mate are  _staggering_ , actually. It doesn't bear thinking about.

“I want to fix it, but I know there’s nothing I can do about making all that crap go away." He offers, pushing Jihoon's hair up out of his eyes. Jihoon smiles at him, soft and unfocused, the edges of his dimples showing.

“You _do_ make it go away.” He whispers, and Seungcheol feels his heart constrict in his chest.  “Yeah—coming here brought some shit to the surface, but that’s to be expected. I can’t pretend it didn’t happen—but it doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy this—enjoy _us_.”

Silence settles between them, until Seungcheol gathers up the nerve to ask. "How did you get away from that?"

Jihoon sits up and turns towards Seungcheol, cross-legged and leaning on his elbows with slight exhaustion curving his frame.

"I ran away," Jihoon admits. "As I entered my final year of school, I started applying for colleges. My form tutor at the time was a pretty amazing woman. She encouraged me to apply for a scholarship secretly, even helped me with my application forms. She let me put her address down on the application forms so that none of the response letters would get back to my parents. When I got my acceptance letter it arrived at her house, she pulled me aside after class, told me to take it and go—not to look back. And that next night I packed my things—she lent me some money and I went to Seoul."

Seungcheol feels ridiculously proud, for a reason he can’t accurately pinpoint. “You’re so brave Jihoonie. Bravest person I know.” He says, and Jihoon turns instantly red, all the way up his neck and into his ears.

Jihoon shrugs. “I just had to do what I could. College was my way out and I’d worked so hard for it. Then when I arrived in Seoul—everything was so different. Suddenly, it didn’t matter what my status was. People were treating me equally and I had the same chances as everyone else. It was surreal. Then there was you.”

He swallow and closes his eyes. “You were the first Alpha I interacted with properly that didn’t try to hurt or—fondle me. Everything with you was so—unconditional. I was so used to keeping my guard up—I hated how safe you made me feel.” Jihoon says stiffly. He scowls at the world in general, like he's expecting to be punished for admitting to that.

“I wish I had have handled things better between us.” Seungcheol says, looking away, feeling a terrifying swell of guilt.

Jihoon's eyes snap open. "What do you mean?" he whispers.

“Now that I know what you went through—I feel like a complete dick pushing myself at you like I did. I was expecting so much and I was getting so impatient that you weren’t letting me in. I can’t believe you even let me in now that I think about it—I basically harassed you.”

Jihoon looks surprised, enough that he frowns, as if that wasn't what he was expecting at all.

"What? Are you serious? You didn’t harass me."

Seungcheol likes the way he says it, like it's never even thought of him that way.

"You—you were one of the nicest people I met Cheol. The way you treated me—it flipped my world view. I never felt harassed I just didn’t know how to cope with all the nice attention. I never got it before. Nobody ever made me feel—safe or wanted like you did. Like you do now.”

Seungcheol shakes his head sorrowfully. "But I wanted you right away—and I thought about doing a lot of things. It would have been so easy for me to just—take." he admits.

Admitting that is kind of painful. But Seungcheol can't help it. He has to, he has to because he can’t pretend a lot of what he did wasn't for his own selfish gain.

Jihoon shakes his head, but it's not a no, it's a _'No fucking way_ ,' headshake. Like Seungcheol even _thinking_ that is absurd.

“But you _didn’t._ You’ve always kept a respectable distance when I needed it and—you made me feel sheltered when I needed it. For fucks sake Cheol you turned me away during your rut when I was practically begging you. I had to break into the fucking apartment after you’d strapped yourself in you were _so_ adamant I couldn’t help. Don’t you remember that?” Jihoon reminds him, carefully

“But—you don’t know what was going through my head. I wanted—so much. I was going to take it by force.” Seungcheol says, gritty and hard.

Jihoon makes a grumpy face, and it's kind of ridiculous that Seungcheol is happy to see it. “Yeah, _after_ I broke into your apartment, _after_ you made me leave. After you _specifically_ sent me away. And even then—you didn’t hurt me when you were in full rut. Jesus Christ Cheol—you were so tame. You didn’t hurt me. I wanted to be there.”

Seungcheol thinks that over for a moment, still unconvinced he can be thay easily redeemed. “What about how possessive I am, and that time I tried to breed you non-stop when you became fertile. I can’t believe you let me off so lightly.”

Jihoon snorts. "What, and miss out on you getting tunnel vision and repeating fertile like a crazy person?" Jihoon asks. "But I was planning on cherishing that."

And that's the thing about Jihoon—he always says the things he means the most with the heaviest sarcasm. Seungcheol’s grin is almost painful.

Seungcheol swallows the lump in his throat, stiff and aching. “Still, I-“

“Cheol—” Jihoon interjects softly, cupping his cheek. “We’re mated now. We love each other.” He says, gesturing slowly between them. “None of it matters. I have never felt safer or happier in my life, okay. So please, just forget about it and _stop being a little bitch.”_

Seungcheol laughs at that—he can’t help it. He hadn't realised how badly he wanted to hear that until it's out. Because it feels like his whole spine relaxes. He smooths out his brow and nods slowly.

“You’re hungry.” Jihoon muses, patting him gently on the stomach. “You always get grumpy when you’re hungry.”

Seungcheol pulls a face at the not so subtle conversation U-Turn. But then his stomach growls under Jihoon’s palm. “I _did_ skip breakfast.”

“Bad Alpha.” Jihoon pouts, stroking his belly soothingly. “The most nutritious meal of the day. You should know better.” He nips at Seungcheol's jaw, coaxing him down into a kiss.

They go at it a long, delicious while; an easy slide from gentle exploration to frantic claiming and back again. Just kissing. There's no rush.

When Jihoon finally pulls away, he’s laughing because Seungcheol’s stomach won’t stop grumbling.

“Go get dressed, I’ll go downstairs and make you a sandwich.”

* * *

 

Jihoon doesn't wait for Seungcheol to reply to that, his mate has a hungry, predatory look on his face that says he’ll eat Jihoon if he doesn’t eat something soon. Getting off can, for once, wait.

And, okay, yes—having sex while Seungcheol’s parents are possibly waiting in the hall is just a tiny bit daunting. Mood lighting or no.

He heads downstairs and pulls out bread, butter, cheese, and a pan, on automatic.

Seungcheol comes downstairs not five minutes later and stops just inside the kitchen, which rankles, because any other day he would have come closer, settled his hands on Jihoon’s shoulders from behind, tried to steal some cheese, or something.

Or maybe just stood there, warming Jihoon’s back. But instead he's staring ahead and frowning, thinking troubled thoughts and generally looking as if he's not sure what he's supposed to be doing any more.

He’s clearly still mulling things over. He looks like he wants to lash out—but there is nobody here to lash out on.

"Take that angry look of your face because it looks ridiculous on you.” Jihoon scolds and Seungcheol instantly rights his expression with a smile.

Seungcheol looks tired, and he shouldn't, because Jihoon knows Seungcheol can run for miles and not get tired, he can have football practice in the morning, lectures all day and hit the gym after and still not get tired.

He just doesn't get tired, and yet that's exactly what he looks like now. Like he's done and said everything he can, and he still doesn't know if it's enough.

Jihoon wants to touch that, he does, he wants to make sure Seungcheol believes that he didn't do anything wrong. But there's a slow tick behind his jaw, a tension in his hands. So he leaves it alone.

Jihoon stops fiddling with the bread, drops it and leaves it wherever it falls, so he can wrap a hand round Seungcheol's wrist and pull. For a second Seungcheol is completely immovable, and then he relaxes and shifts into Jihoon's space, hip pushed against the counter.

Jihoon kisses him, one slow, careful press of mouth, it's meant to be reassuring. Something that gets across that they're ok, that they didn't break anything, and they're both in the same place they were yesterday. Only a little more careful, a little more aware of what they are to each other, of what they need to work past. Or maybe it just says that it's completely fine to be a little messed up, because everyone is.

Jihoon doesn't exactly have much experience trying to say things while kissing someone. But he gets a long, slow exhale and then Seungcheol kisses him back.

When he draws away Seungcheol's watching him, as if he's not sure what he's going to do or say next. Maybe like he’s thinking of apologising for things he has no control over all over again. Seungcheol’s soft like that—trying his damn best to repair things he’s not responsible for.

“Now come here and keep me warm while I make this sandwich.” Jihoon orders, and Seungcheol dutifully presses up behind him as he drags slices of bread out, makes food mostly on auto-pilot.

He slices cheese, butters the bread, heats the pan and assembles the sandwich ready for grilling. After a minute, some of Seungcheol’s stiffness slides away and he puts his arms around Jihoon, his palms flat against Jihoon’s stomach. His head tips into Jihoon’s shoulder and he takes a few long, low breaths, like he's measuring them out.

He nuzzles into the bend of Jihoon’s neck and repeats his mantra, ‘ _mine—mine—mine’._

“That’s better. Good Alpha. Cheese for you.” Jihoon coos, lifting a chunk of extra cheese up to Seungcheol’s lips.

Seungcheol opens his mouth wide. “Ahhh.”

“Good boy.” Jihoon purrs, reaching back to cup Seungcheol’s skull, craning his neck to kiss him on the cheek.

When he pulls back, he catches sight of Mr and Mrs Choi standing in the doorway watching them fondly.

Jihoon flushes, but Seungcheol hasn’t noticed—tunnel vision already settling in. A tunnel vision for more cheese. “Cheese, Hoonie—cheese.”

Jihoon giggles and cuts him another slice.

* * *

 

When their visit comes to an end—Jihoon finds himself a little sad.

He’s never experienced homesickness before, but it’s a measure of how comfortable he is with Seungcheol and his family. He’s surprised at how quickly living amongst them starts to feel normal.

He watches Seungcheol and his father carry their luggage out to the car, and thanks Mrs Choi again for having him over.

To his surprise, Mrs Choi reaches up to gently pat his cheek. "You are a sweet boy, and we’ve loved having you here. This is your home now and I hope you’ll be comfortable coming to visit us again soon." She says, gazing at Jihoon with an expression that he hasn’t seen often.

It feels more like home to him than anything he’s felt in a long time, and Jihoon coughs against the rising breathlessness in his throat, which is about as close to those tears as Jihoon’s been since childhood.

“Yes—of course. I had a really lovely time and you’ve all made me feel so welcome. Thank you.”

She smiles as they slowly make their way from the dining room and down the hallway towards the front door. She pauses there and peers down at him. "You tell me if Seungcheol is fresh with you. I raised that man, and he's not too old for me to box his ears."

Jihoon presses his lips together and tries not to laugh. "Honestly Mrs Choi, Cheol’s perfect. But, I’ll keep that in mind."

**Author's Note:**

> 1) I'M SORRY I GAVE JIHOON SUCH A SHITTY PAST.  
> 2) But he's happy now. It's all in the past.  
> 3) I bet you can guess what comes next though? I leave hints in my stories....hohohohohohoh.  
> 4) A lot of people asked for a 'meet the parents' chapter, I hope this was satisfying?  
> 5) Thank you for reading and feedback always appreciated!


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